


At the Edge of the World

by Intreker05



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, F/F, Love, Post-Apocalypse, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-06 21:32:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14656656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Intreker05/pseuds/Intreker05
Summary: At the End Time Saloon in Polis, Clarke Griffin finds herself completely entranced by the beautiful and mysterious woman who walks through her door one evening. Lexa is a courier, whose job is to ride across this new, broken America delivering messages and packages in a dangerous world. She has one, final delivery to make before she can retire. But will her encounter with Clarke throw a wrench into her entire plan?In this alternate universe story, Clarke and Lexa learn to navigate an unexpected love story in a world not made for love.





	1. At the Edge of the World

Chapter 1: At the Edge of the World

Polis was a city at the edge of the world. City might be pushing it a little. Town perhaps. Ok, lets try shit hole. There, that one fits. Polis was a shit hole at the edge of the world. It was a small place by old standards, less than a thousand permanent residents, one main road, no stoplights. But by current standards, more than two people standing in one place for longer than 30 seconds and not trying to shoot each other might be called a city. Polis had been around for almost thirty years now. It was a gateway to the West, away from civilization.

It all happened in 2035, when the bombs fell. No one knows who launched the first one. North Korea, Iran, China, Russia, the United States. Hell, maybe even none of them. Maybe it was hackers that launched the first one and the rest of the world followed suit, retaliating against a pimply teenager sitting in his mother’s basement. But it didn’t matter. The landscape of the world changed overnight. Major cities were destroyed, infrastructure was ruined, no one had clean water, electricity, internet. Economic centers were taken out, the New York Stock Exchange melted into the ground. All the numbers in banks around the world turned into zeros, on the few banks that still had power. 

The next twenty years were about fighting for resources. Who even had time to think about rebuilding? After that, the Boatman Plague, called that because it was thought that some sailor brought it over from Africa or the Middle East when the ships brought supplies from small pockets in that part of the world that had recovered faster than the United States. In less than 50 years, the US population had been reduced by almost 90%. The survivors did what they had to do. They rebuilt, they scavenged, they tried to survive. And Polis rose up out of the ashes, slowly at first. Now, it almost looked like something out of an old, ruined history book. But not what the buildings looked like in 2035. Maybe closer to the 1860s. 

Polis represented the edge of New America. A couple hundred buildings, bigger towards the center and spreading out until, at the edges, little more than tents. To the North, the Coldlands, a vast, frozen wasteland. To the South, the swamps, where large, mutated alligators feast on anything they can find, including the occasional Bayou boat family trying to make a living on the small, solar-powered craft that paddle silently through the swamps. To the East, the Coastals, small cities clustered around the best remaining source of food, the oceans. And to the West, the Wastes. 

But out in the Wastes was the history of New America. There were large cities, swallowed by the desert and just waiting to be recovered. There were roaming bands of raiders, sand pirates, desert people. There was enough salvage to make a person rich, enough fighting to slake even the deepest thirst for violence, enough adventure to satisfy the most daring heart. So it was here, at the edge of the world, that Clarke made her home. 

Clarke Griffin had opened her brothel ten years ago when she’d rolled into town with a few girls and a beat up pickup truck and a few trunks full of clothing and lavish costumes. Her best friend, Finn, had been the owner of the End Times Saloon, a large, hulking square building right at the edge of town. It served people coming into town and people going out of town, no matter what direction they came from. It seemed to be most often used by gunfighters and salvagers and adventurers heading out into the desert, searching for the meaning of life amongst the tiny grains of orange sand. Finn thought that the men might want something a little soft and warm to go with their nice, stiff, uh, drink. Yeah, drink. 

So he’d written to the beautiful girl in his hometown. The one he’d left five years earlier the day he’d turned fifteen, to travel to the edge of the world. And she’d responded, packing up her life, since her parents had died years earlier and she had no home, and she brought some women with her who had a similar story, and the brothel had opened on the second and third floors of the saloon building. 

Now, every Friday and Saturday night at End Times, the men and women of the town, visitors passing through, or anyone who wanted to have a good time, could come see beautiful women dancing and singing and, for the right price, take them upstairs and roll around for a little while. The saloon was clean, cozy, even for a building at the edge of the world. The first floor looked like a good, western cowboy bar, though, with a severe lack of horses and cattle in the new world, there weren’t many cowboys still around. There was a long, tall bar along the back wall, standing room only. Murphy and Bellamy, slung drinks across the well-polished wooden top most nights. Around the room there were a dozen or so tables, most of them seating four people comfortably with enough room for drinks and whatever card game happened to be going on. 

Opposite the bar, a small stage had been built with a heavy, velvet curtain for Clarke’s girls to dance and sing. There was an old piano and a guitar sitting nearby. The stairs up to the second floor sat in the corner. There was a long balcony around the second floor of the saloon, the ceiling open making the room feel like it was bigger than it was. There were doors all along the balcony representing different rooms. For a small price, a person could rent the room for the night and a place to rest their head. For a higher price, a person could find someone warm and cozy to go with them. 

Clarke and her girls had taken over the third floor of the saloon. Finn still had his quarters up there as well but most of it now belonged to the ladies. Clarke had the largest room, a corner suite, but the other girls were well taken care of, each having a room of their own if they didn’t want to work for the night. Clarke was a fair and kind woman. She let the girls keep most of their earnings and never made them work if they didn’t want to, though, if they went too long without making any money she suggested that they might consider another line of work. 

That night, Clarke was leaning against the bar, a glass of whisky in her hands, the ice slowly melting in the pool of amber liquid. She watched as two of her girls, Raven and Octavia, sang along with the piano and the guitar. They wore fancy dresses and scented perfumes that smelled like lavender and black pepper and pine trees. There was a crowd of people clustered at the stage. A hat for tips was being passed around and Clarke could see that it was already full, hands crushing down the pile of bills to add more to the top. 

Several other girls were working the room. Harper was sitting with a three men, shuffling a deck of cards in front of her. Monroe lounged across the lap of an older woman in the corner, laughing and gently kissing her cheek when the woman told a joke. Emori carried a tray of drinks from the bar to a table of hard, angry-looking men and Clarke knew she was going to have to keep her eyes on them. They looked like the type that could get a little too rough if she wasn’t careful. 

Clarke took a drink, sad that the ice had melted so much that it watered down the taste of good whisky. Bellamy cleared his throat. He was always so nervous around her. 

“I can get you another, ma’am,” he said. 

The young man was new to Polis. He had a thick head of dark black hair and a handsome face and in another lifetime, Clarke might have eaten him alive, but this was a world that wasn’t made for love. So she smiled at him, shook her head. 

“Thank you, Bellamy. But it’s my own fault I let it water down. And you can call me Clarke,” she grinned. “I won’t bite.”

He ducked his head and the look on his face before he turned away told Clarke that he wouldn’t mind it if she did. Clarke smiled and turned back to the stage just as the song was ending. Raven and Octavia hopped off the stage to the cheers and applause of the crowd. Now it was Clarke’s turn to do her job. She finished her whisky in a single gulp and moved towards the crowd.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the beautiful Raven and Octavia have blessed you with their beautiful voices tonight but they can bless you with something more if you’d like the pleasure of their company. Don’t go to bed cold tonight, folks.”

She grabbed the hat as it was passed to her and was happy to see that it was full to the brim and even overflowing. She caught one of the crinkly, brown bills as it threatened to fall to the floor. 

Clarke laughed. “I hope you haven’t emptied your wallets on the show. These ladies don’t come cheap.”

Clarke turned and handed the hat to Murphy who set it back behind the bar in a little cubby where it would be safe until she had a chance to count it and distribute it to Raven and Octavia after she took her cut and paid Finn. Now was when the real work began. For the next hour, men and women from the bar came to her, making offers to purchase the services of either Raven or Octavia for the night. One man, in a heavy fur coat that smelled musty and damp, offered a tidy sum for the both of them at once, but Clarke had to turn him down. The offer simply wasn’t enough. 

Raven and Octavia were her best girls, and also her best friends. The three of them had been together since the beginning. At this point, Raven and Octavia didn’t work much, preferring the tips they got running drinks to the other kind of work they had to do. But when they did work, they were Clarke’s biggest draw. 

Raven walked over, bumped Clarke with her hip to let her know she was there. 

“So,” she said. “How are we doing tonight?”

“Making us all a fortune, of course,” Clarke smiled. “Just like every night.”

“You should just make a wax mold of this beautiful, beautiful body and rent the copies out for half-price. You’d make millions.”

Clarke laughed. “I’ll take that into consideration for my next business venture."  
”  
“And what about you, Clarke?”

I looked at Raven. She had a strange expression on her face. I’d seen it before. 

“Oh don’t you start on that again, Raven.”

“1,897,” Raven said. “That’s over five years. Five years of sleeping alone in your bed. You need a warm body too. Hell, pay for it if you have to.”

“And how much do you cost for the night,” Clarke said, jokingly. 

“Too rich for your blood,” Raven grinned. 

Clarke shook her head. “Don’t start in on that again, Raven. I like sleeping alone. I don’t have to listen to anyone’s snoring.”

“Find someone who doesn’t snore.”

“I don’t have to share the covers.”

“Find someone who doesn’t hog the blanket.”

“Raven.”

“Clarke.”

The two women smiled at each other. They’d been friends for a decade and could talk about things that only two people who had been friends that long could. Clarke leaned against the bar and Bellamy walked over.

“Another drink, Clarke?” he asked. 

“Make it a double, this time. And straight up. I’ll probably just go and let the ice melt again.”

He smiled and turned to get to work, pulling an unlabeled glass bottle off the shelf on the back wall and pouring into a freshly washed glass. Raven grinned at Clarke. 

“What about that one?”

“He’s too gentle, too quiet. I don’t think he’s got it in him. And I don’t want to spend the night with a man who blushes every time I touch him.”

Raven chuckled to herself. “Maybe I’ll take him for myself, train him up real good just for you. I bet I can make him into a bad boy.”

Clarke laughed. The two women lapsed into comfortable silence as Bellamy brought the drink over to Clarke. She took it, sipped it appreciatively, and handed Bellamy a silver coin out of her pocket as a tip. 

Clarke heard the front door open and saw Raven turn to see who was coming in. Her girls knew how to work the room, how to read a potential customer. Even someone brand new to the bar, even this late in the evening, could be looking for a warm body and could be willing to pay top dollar. Raven whistled softly. 

“What about her?”

Clarke turned and was instantly happy that she’d left her drink sitting on the bar, otherwise it would have shattered into a million pieces on the floor. The woman who had just walked in was beautiful. She was wearing a black cowboy hat, a long brown braid falling out of the back and down past her shoulders. Her face was all angles and planes, sharp cheekbones, a sloping jaw, a rounded chin, and piercing green eyes, visible even under the brim of her hat. She wore a black duster, black boots, black jeans, and a black button-up shirt. The only things not black were the silver buckle of her belt and the silver revolver in the holster at her hip. Clarke only caught a glance of it as she turned to shut the door, but it was there. 

Raven had to bump Clarke again with her shoulder before the other woman turned back around. 

“Huh, guess that answers that question,” Raven grinned. 

“Shut up,” Clarke growled, downing half her whisky in a single mouthful. 

 

————

 

Lexa Woods rode into Polis on a horse named Ruby. Of course, Ruby happened to be a slightly dented and banged up 1,000cc motorcycle that road a little rough but could still get going when she needed to. Ruby growled her way down the main drag in town until Lexa found a parking slip she could pull into. She paid the kid at the little guard shack two coppers to watch the bike. He pocketed one and put the other into an old mason jar under the counter. 

“Best place to get a drink around here?” she asked him, happy to finally have a place to get out of the incessant rain that had been leaking out of the sky for the last three days. “And even better if they have a place to lay my head.”

“The End Times Saloon,” he said, pointing. “Go three streets down, then turn right and keep going to the end of the road. Can’t miss it.”

She thanked him with another copper and a tip of her hat and was gone. There was some semblance of a sidewalk, though most of it was just wooden front stoops of homes and shops that lined the main street. After she turned, it was all muddy paths and deep pot holes and she swore under her breath every time she stepped into one of them and sent another wash of cold water into her boots. 

Lexa was tired, she was worn out. But one more job, just one more and she’d have enough money. Last year she’d bought a house. It was a small thing, little more than a shack, but it had a few solar panels and a well in the backyard and it sat on twenty-five acres that were actually hers. But that had used up all her savings and she needed a little something to start up the farm. Just enough to buy a few chickens, to plant some crops. 

But to do that, she had to deliver a package to a man who might not even exist. She had to leave New America. She had to cross the Wastes, to a place that had once been called California. The word felt foreign on her tongue. But she had to do it. It was her only option. She’d had a family once. They were dead. She’d had friends. They were gone. She’d had a lover, but that was a long time ago. Now, it was just her. 

She was at the saloon before she realized it. The kid had been right. There was no way to miss the largest building in town. It was three stories high, covered about a full quarter of the block. It was also the last building between New America and the Wastes. She pushed open the door and stepped inside. 

The noise inside was a symphony of sound compared to the damp, silent streets outside. She could hear clinking glasses, loud voices, a piano somewhere in the background. There was laughing, chuckling, high-pitched giggling. Lexa turned and shut the door behind her and when she looked back around, she couldn’t help but see a face across the room. The woman was looking at her, hard. Lexa wasn’t exactly a stranger to long gazes from men and women, but this was different. This woman was exquisite. 

Lexa took a deep breath and tried not to stare, but it wasn’t working. The woman had shoulder-length blonde hair that hung thick in heavy, loose curls. She had a round face with a sharp jaw line that Lexa could see even across the room. She wore a pair of dark jeans, a loose, pattered shirt with a neck that cut low and exposed ample cleavage. She wore a gun belt across her hips, a knife on one side, a short, black revolver on the other. She had high cowboy boots that looked broken in and not just for show. And her eyes, deep pools of blue that Lexa could drown in. She pulled her eyes away, walked down to the other end of the bar opposite where the woman was standing. 

One of the bartenders walked over. He was a young man with dirty blonde hair and an easy, crooked smile. “What’ll it be?”

“What’s the strongest drink you’ve got in the place?” Lexa asked, feeling the need to get rip-roaring drunk tonight. 

“I’ve got some corn shine, just got delivered to me last night from a farmer out a ways. I can’t promise it tastes good, but it will definitely do the trick,” the bartender said, reaching for a large mason jar behind the bar. 

Lexa nodded. “Make it a double and keep ‘em coming. I tip well.”

The man grinned. “Well, in that case, I’m Murphy.”

“Lexa,” she said, extending a hand to him. “Who would I see about getting a room for the night?”

“Finn,” Murphy said, jerking his head toward a man sitting at a small corner table. He had a ledger and a cash box on the table in front of him and was watching the bar with a cautious eye, checking to make sure everything was going well. 

“He the owner?”

Murphy nodded. 

“And what about the blonde at the end of the bar? She kind of looks like she owns the place.”

“Clarke?” Murphy chuckled to himself. “She might as well. Actually, she runs all the girls here, but she and Finn are friends, they go way back. So it’s more like a partnership. Finn runs the bar, keeps the rooms, but Clarke is the one who makes all the money.”

“The girls?”

“Yeah,” Murphy nodded. “There’s a brothel here too, about a dozen girls and Clarke’s the brains behind the outfit. If you’re interested, most of them are working tonight since it’s such a rainy night. Plenty of people are looking for someone warm to crawl into bed with them.”

Lexa shook her head. “Thanks, Murphy. But the day I have to pay for it is the day I hang up my boots. I do think I’ll see about a room, though.”

Lexa picked up her drink off the bar and weaved her way through the crowd to get to Finn. She sat down in the chair across from him, leaning toward him over the table. 

“You Finn?” she asked. 

The man nodded, his shaggy brown hair bouncing with every movement. 

“Your barman, Murphy, told me you were the person to talk to about a room.”

Finn nodded again. “Looking for anything special? I’ve got a few singles, a couple doubles if you’re looking for company. I have two corner suites with showers and toilets in ‘em but for the rest of them there’s a couple bathrooms to share.”

Lexa pondered her options. A shower would be nice, but it was probably more money than she was willing to spend. And the other rooms had a bathroom she could use which would at least mean a tub to soak in for a while. 

“A single,” she answered finally. 

“Two silvers for the night, plus two coppers if you want breakfast in the morning.”

Lexa dipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the coins. “How about for three nights?”

“Cut you a deal, then. A gold for the room and breakfast is free. But you still pay for any drinks and company you might want.”

Lexa nodded and handed over the gold piece. Finn pulled a key out of his coat pocket and handed it to her. There was a tag on it with the number 4 drawn on in thick black lines. She pocketed the key and Finn had her sign her name to the ledger. She signed her real one. She didn’t care if anyone knew she was here. At this point, no one was looking for her. It might be different when she came back through on her return trip. 

Lexa stood back up, walked back toward the bar, sipping on the sharp liquid in her glass. She was halfway through and already could feel the weightless sensation between her ears. If she kept this up, she’d be unconscious before the piano player got to his next song. As Lexa walked, she could feel eyes on her, watching her move through the crowd. It was a good instinct to have in her line of work. Lexa looked up. She met Clarke’s eyes with her own. And this time, she didn’t look away.


	2. Coffee and Cornbread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa and Clarke take a little time to get to know each other better.

Chapter 2: Coffee and Cornbread

Clarke and Lexa played a complicated game that night. They both knew the other was playing but they didn’t know the rules. Lexa spent most of her evening at the bar. For her second drink she switched to something a little lighter, the corn shine was making her head spin and she didn’t want that anymore. Turns out, rip-roaring drunk isn’t as much fun as flirting with a pretty girl.

It was after midnight when the bar started clearing out. Most of the locals had gone home, most of the tourists had gone upstairs to their rooms, some alone, some not. Clarke had watched Raven walk up the steps with an older gentleman with a long, white mustache. Octavia pulled a young farm boy behind her, an overwhelmed look on his face and empty pockets. Soon, it was just Clarke, Lexa, Finn, the bartenders, and a small handful of people finishing card games or nursing beers. Finn stood up from his table, locked his cash box and ledger in a safe at the back of the room. 

“I’m exhausted,” he told Clarke, walking over to her. “Watch the room for a little while. Just until Kane gets here.”

Clarke nodded. 

Marcus Kane was the night man. He normally came in around three in the morning to watch the place for the rest of the night while everyone else got some sleep. Clarke watched while Bellamy and Murphy finished wiping down the bar, counted their tips, and finally took their coats and hats off the back rack and left for the night. In less than half an hour, Lexa, Clarke and the card players were the only ones left in the bar. 

Clarke walked behind the bar and leaned against it about halfway down from where Lexa was sitting. 

“If you want another drink, just let me know”

“Thanks,” Lexa said, tipping her glass at the beautiful woman. “I think this’ll be it for me for the night.”

“Are you sure?”

Lexa chuckled and slid down the bar, a little closer to Clarke. “This is the first time I’ve been in a town for a long time, and a long time since I’ve had a drink.”

“How long?”

“Almost a year.”

“A year since you’ve had a drink,” Clarke raised her eyebrows at the other woman. “I’m impressed.”

“It wasn’t necessarily by choice.”

“I’m Clarke, by the way,” Clarke said, extending her hand to the woman. 

“Lexa,” she responded. 

Lexa took Clarke’s hand in hers. She felt the soft, warm skin against her palm and it took every ounce of control she had to act like a normal human being and let it go again after an appropriate amount of time for a handshake. 

“So what brings you to the edge of the world, Lexa?”

“Work,” Lexa drained the rest of her glass and set it on the bar. 

Clarke picked up the glass, washed it, dried it with a clean towel, and sat it on the shelf. Lexa watched her every move. 

“Where do you go from here?”

“Into the Wastes.”

Clarke frowned at her. “Really?”

Lexa nodded. “I’m a courier. When I have messages to deliver, I go wherever I need to go and do whatever I need to do.”

“Have you ever been out to the Wastes before?”

“Once, but not as far as I’m going this time.”

“I don’t remember you, so you didn’t cross here.”

“No,” Lexa agreed. “Way up North, place used to be called Canada. I crossed there, went south to the Wastes and back. Only about 25 miles in. Took me less than a day. I was delivering news of a mother’s son who had been killed in a factory in a Coastal town. One of the hardest messages I’ve ever had to deliver.”

“Do you always know what’s in your letters?”

“No,” Lexa shook her head. “I don’t really know what’s in any of them unless someone tells me. In that case, the woman actually told me. She thanked me for delivering the news that her son was dead.”

“That’s a little messed up,” Clarke said, frowning. 

“Not really,” Lexa shrugged. “At least, I get it. I’d want to know if it was my family.”

“Fair enough,” Clarke nodded. “My parents died years ago so I guess I don’t know what that’s like.”

“Mine too,” Lexa nodded. 

“Well this has sure turned into a pleasant conversation.”

Lexa chuckled. “Is there anything in this world that leads to a pleasant end anymore?”

“I can think of a few things,” Clarke said, suggestively, leaning against the bar so that Lexa could get a good look at her cleavage as her shirt dropped away from her chest. 

Lexa was definitely looking. She was trying hard not to. It took every ounce of control that she had. She swallowed hard and raised her eyes back to Clarke’s, trying to ignore the sly smile on the other woman’s lips. 

“Fair enough,” Lexa nodded. 

“But I get the feeling that you’re not someone who engages in very many pleasures. Am I right.”

Lexa grinned. “I travel most of the time. Home for me is out in the middle of nowhere and the only other farms nearby are either married couples with younger children or people who don’t share my interests.”

“What are your interests?” Clarke leaned further on the bar, so close now that she could smell the rich scent of whisky on Lexa’s skin, the coated canvass of her duster, the hint of gunpowder and oil and gasoline. 

Lexa smiled at the woman, a slight bowing of lips with just the perfect hint of thickness. Clarke forced herself to pull her eyes upward so that she was looking at Lexa’s eyes and not her mouth. She found the woman intoxicating, the pull of her had Clarke trapped and she couldn’t get away. It had been a long, long time since she’d felt that way about another person and even though Clarke generally prided herself on keeping a calm head on her shoulders, she realized that she had very little control where Lexa was concerned. 

“I’ve never been able to say no to a beautiful woman,” Lexa said, keeping her voice low so that Clarke was the only person who could hear her words. 

Lexa had heard stories about the old world, where people actually cared about who you slept with or who you had a relationship with. Now, everyone knew that time and pleasure were both in limited quantities, so you spent time with and loved whoever you could, whenever you could, but Lexa’s words were just for Clarke. 

“You know we could have taken care of that problem for you tonight. I have plenty of beautiful women you could say yes to.”

Lexa smiled. “I don’t pay for it.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged but wouldn’t answer. Clarke frowned. There were layers to this woman, parts and pieces of her that Clark couldn’t see on the surface and part of her wanted to find out about all of them. Lexa pulled a bill out of her pocket and slid it across the table. 

“This should cover my tab tonight. Keep the change.”

Lexa stood up and started walking toward the stairs, leaving a flabbergasted Clarke watching her go. She paused after she’d taken a few steps, then turned back around and walked over to Clarke. 

“When I get to know you better, I’ll tell you why I don’t pay for it.”

“What makes you think I want you to get to know me better?”

“Because you’re intrigued,” Lexa grinned, then leaned across the bar and swiftly pecked Clarke on the cheek with her lips.

With that she turned and walked to the stairs on the far side of the room. Clarke stood and watched her walk up the stairs, stop at a door, grab the key out of her pocket, and open the door. When Lexa had disappeared behind the closed door, Clarke let out a sigh and sagged against the bar.

——————  
Lexa stood inside the small room, her back pressed against the cool wood door. Her heart was beating quickly, her palms were sweating. She shook her head, hard, to clear her mind. 

What in the hell? She thought to herself. Come on, Lexa. Get it together. She’s just a woman. A pretty one, but don’t fall apart. You don’t have time for this.

Lexa took a deep breath. In three days she’d be leaving for the Wastes and who knew if she’d ever be returning. There wasn’t time for her to get her feelings all twisted up over a girl. 

Lexa took off her hat and surveyed the room. There was a small bed in one corner, a wash basin near the window with a bowl and pitcher already on top of the table. There was a smaller side table next to the bed with a small drawer in it, a dresser on the far wall with an extra quilt folded on top, and a mirror hanging above it. Next to the door on the wall there were five hooks. Lexa hung her hat on one, her duster on another. She unbuttoned her shirt and hung it next to the duster. She pulled off her belt and boots and put them away. Soon she was just wearing her white t-shirt and jeans. 

Inside one of the drawers was a pair of towels, surprisingly thick, and she remembered that she’d wanted to take a bath. She was tired, but the idea of being clean after her long ride the last two days was too good to pass up. She grabbed both of the towels, stuck her feet back in her boots, and left the room. She saw Clarke still at the bar and felt the other woman’s eyes follow her down the balcony to the bathroom door. 

Lexa was happy when she shut the bathroom door behind her and let out another deep breath. A few more days of this and she was going to be exhausted. She ran water into the deep tub, happy to have hot water and indoor plumbing. They weren’t really rare, just expensive, something that most of the small hovels and shelters she stayed in on her travels didn’t have the money for. Occasionally, she was lucky and got one with a sink so she could wash up in the evening. 

Lexa pulled off her clothes and draped them over a nearby chair while she waited for the tub to fill. She’d have to go back to Ruby in the morning and get an extra change of clothes so she could wash the ones she was wearing. Having a bath tub gave her the chance to give her jeans a rare wash too, which would be nice. Lexa slowly sank into the water, leaning her head back against the edge of the tub. 

In the hot water, she felt the aches and tightness in her muscles slowly fade away. Her shoulders dropped, her back relaxed, her head felt heavy on her shoulders. She turned off the tap, stuck her feet up on the opposite edge of the tub, and closed her eyes.

—————

Back down at the bar, Clarke looked up at the bathroom door where Lexa had disappeared. She’d been carrying a towel with her, which meant that she was probably going to take a bath, which meant that she was probably in there right now, naked, her skin slick and wet from the water. Clarke shook her head, hard. She had to clear her mind, focus on finishing up her night with her head firmly on her shoulders and not thinking about how she would rather her head be between a pair of shapely thighs. Clarke shook her head again. This was going to be harder than she thought. 

Clarke tried to occupy her mind by cleaning glasses, for the second or third time that night. She wiped down the bar, then all the tables, swept behind the bar. She’d done most of Marcus’s job by the time he came in, shaking the rain off his hat in the entry and then hanging it, along with his wet jacket, on the hook behind the bar. 

“Evening, Clarke,” he said with a smile and a nod of his head. 

“I think we’re a little past evening, Marcus,” Clarke smiled and gave the older man a kiss on the cheek. 

He’d been an old fixture at the bar before Finn had taken over the End Times. The owner might have changed, but Marcus Kane remained. He’d lived in Polis his entire life, with his wife Abby. They didn’t have any children of their own but had adopted Clarke, Finn, and the rest of the staff at End Times. Clarke had dinner at their house at least once a week now. Marcus came in every morning around three. He said he’d never slept much and this gave him something to do instead of staying home and waking his wife up. He’d man the bar and watch the floor until around six when the kitchen staff came in to make breakfast, then he’d help with that, and around eight Finn normally came down, sometimes nine, and he’d pay Marcus and the two men would play a game of checkers over a cup of coffee with a splash of something strong or Marcus would smoke a strong-smelling pipe while Finn poured over the books and Marcus offered some advice. 

It was a dysfunctional family, but it worked, and Clarke wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Good night?” Marcus asked, tying an apron around his waist and swinging a slightly stained but otherwise clean towel over one shoulder.

“Business was good, probably driven in by all the rain. All the girls who wanted someone to keep them warm found someone, and the drinks have been flowing most of the night.”

“What’s their story?” Marcus asked, gesturing towards the table of men who were still playing cards, an unusual sight at this hour.

“Four brothers, actually. Two of them work on the boats, two of them are truckers, they don’t see each other much, so one week a year they pick a place to meet up, catch up, drink and play cards the whole time. They’ve been on this game for about five hours and their chips keep shifting but no one seems ready to win or lose.”

Marcus smiled and shook his head. “I suppose that’s a way to make up for lost time.”

Clarke smiled and walked around the end of the bar. 

“I’m exhausted tonight, Marcus. If you need anything, just ring.”

Behind the bar, there were a series of small electric switches that led to bells on each of the third story rooms. Occasionally, Clarke would use them for the girls if their presence was requested by one of their regulars, or a patron with especially deep pockets. She had one in her room for anyone to get her attention if they needed it in the few hours she tried to sleep. Though, even though it was almost three, she knew she’d be up by eight. She didn’t sleep much anymore. 

Clarke took the stairs up and was walking across the second floor balcony when she heard the bathroom door open. 

“Shit,” she swore to herself. 

She hadn’t been paying attention. She hadn’t noticed that Lexa hadn’t gone back to her room. That she had been in the bathroom the whole time. She grimaced and saw the women walk out of the shower, her hair damp as she ran a towel across it to help it dry. Clarke had to remind herself that it wasn’t generally polite to stare and especially not when your jaw had dropped and your mouth was hanging open wide enough to catch flies. 

Lexa was wearing her jeans, her t-shirt was damp from the water on her skin, enough so that it was making the shirt dangerously see-through. Her hair had been pulled out of her braid and was hanging loosely past her shoulders, curly and wavy in all the right places. She looked up at Clarke, must have seen the expression on the other woman’s face, and her lips twitched into a small grin. 

“Clarke,” she said, her voice even. 

Clarke swallowed hard and when she spoke, it felt like her voice squeaked out from her throat. 

“Lexa,” she said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were still up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’m just heading to bed now.”

“Of course,” Clarke nodded. “Well, have a good night.” 

Lexa stood there for a few more moments, a slow grin spreading across her face. 

“I’d love to. But you’re standing in front of my door.”

Clarke groaned and took a few steps backwards. She wasn’t sure what was wrong with her. Normally, it wasn’t difficult for her to maintain her composure around beautiful men or women. It’s what she did for a living. But there was something different about this one. Something that told Clarke that for the first time in a long time she wanted to get to know someone. 

“Sorry about that,” Clarke said, taking a deep breath to try to steady her nerves. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Lexa said. “I was distracting you.”

She walked over to the door and put her key in the lock, turned it. Before she opened the door she paused and turned toward Clarke. 

“I hope I’ll see you in the morning,” Lexa said. 

“Why’s that?”

Lexa looked away then and Clarke was surprised to see the woman’s cheeks redden slightly as a blush crossed her skin. 

“Because I’m intrigued too.”

Clarke smiled, feeling her confidence return. Lexa was a beautiful, interesting, intelligent woman, but she was still just a woman, and Clarke could handle that. She walked over to her and gently kissed her on the cheek.

“In the morning then, at breakfast. And be sure to try the cornbread. It’s excellent.”

“Yes ma’am,” Lexa nodded, blushing again, then ducked into her room and closed the door behind her. 

Clarke walked up the second flight of stairs and down the hallway to her room. She took a quick shower, keeping the water cool. She changed into a pair of shorts and a loose t-shirt and ran a brush through her thick blonde hair before she climbed into bed, pulling the comforter over her shoulders and trying not to think about the beautiful brunette with the amazing smile.


	3. Tangled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa spend the morning together trying to figure things, and each other, out.

Chapter 3: Tangled

The next morning, Lexa was up and dressed earlier than she should have been. She’d laid in bed for about half an hour before sleep finally took over, thinking about Clarke with her easy smile and her incredible grace and confidence. It made her breath catch in her throat to think about it. It made her heartbeat quicken. But, finally, she’d fallen into a fitful sleep, waking at least every hour to make sure she hadn’t missed breakfast. Before the sun was too high in the sky, she finally gave up and got out of bed, dressing quickly and pulling her hair back into a loose braid. Lexa swung her gun belt low across her hips, the thick piece of leather falling right where her revolver was easiest to draw when her arms were hanging loose at her sides. Unfortunately, she’d gotten a lot of practice. 

Finally, right as she left the door, she grabbed her hat off the dressed and walked down the stairs. The saloon was almost empty in the watery light of morning. It looked like the rain was finally done and the sun was out but the light coming in through the first floor windows didn’t seem to be trying very hard. Some of the lights around the edge of the floor were still lit from the night before. The kitchen door next to the bar was open and a young Asian man with shaggy black hair stood next to it. He wore a white apron loose around his neck and looked a little bored. He watched Lexa walk down the stairs and when she took a seat at a nearby table, he walked over to her. 

“You want some breakfast?” he asked.

“Sure,” Lexa nodded. “Bar open?”

“This early?” he asked. 

Lexa just grinned. 

The young man ducked into the kitchen and came out a few minutes later with a plate of food and a tin mug of coffee that he sat down on the table. “Bar might not be open quite yet, but that should hit the spot.” 

Lexa took a sip of the hot coffee and felt a familiar burn slide down the back of her throat. She grinned up at the young man. 

“Perfect,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Monty.”

“How long have you worked here, Monty?”

“About a year. My mom and I came into town looking for work but she got sick. Now it’s just me here. Finn took me on, gave me a job.”

“He sounds like a pretty good guy.”

“He is,” Monty nodded. “Let’s be honest, how many other places are there that give some punk kid a chance.”

Lexa chuckled and shook her head. More than you think, kid, she thought to herself. But most of them take a little piece of your soul at the same time. 

Lexa dug into the plate of food in front of her, never one to skip a meal whether it was good or not. This one, though, was good. A pile of eggs that tasted like they might just be real, a sliced tomato, two pieces of bacon, and a large slab of cornbread. Clarke hadn’t been lying the night before. It was excellent. 

Lexa finished her meal and her coffee, a little disappointed that the gorgeous blonde hadn’t made her way downstairs yet. Lexa decided to head back to her bike to get the rest of her stuff so she could wash her clothes tonight. Before that, though, she motioned Monty over to her table. 

“You live in town, Monty?”

He nodded. “There’s a boarding house nearby, rents rooms out to a lot of the workers around town, some that go out into the Wastes for work during the winter.”

“What is there around town to get into?”

“Not much,” Monty shrugged. “There’s a general store nearby, Marcus’s wife, Abby runs it. She has playing cards, normally a couple paperbacks if you like to read, tobacco if you smoke or chew. There’s a pool hall, a couple tables, a copper a game if you want to go play and they have some alright beer. A little theater but it only plays movies on Saturday nights so that won’t work.”

“Maybe I’ll take a look at the pool hall and the general store, then,” Lexa said, sliding a couple coppers across the table toward Monty. 

He took them appreciatively and started clearing the dishes. 

Lexa stood, putting on her hat. 

“Leaving already?” a voice asked. 

Lexa’s stomach clenched slightly. The fact that, less than a day after meeting this woman, she could have this kind of effect on her, made Lexa want to take herself out back and kick her own ass. 

Clarke was standing there, The same jeans, a different shirt, this one gray and tight that left even less to the imagination than the little loose number she’d worn the night before. Her gun belt was a little less thick than Lexa’s, a little less worn in, but still not for show. The gun she carried had a shorter barrel but Clarke didn’t need to take long shots in the bar. Lexa’s eyes roamed across the woman and she had to remember to speak. 

“I didn’t figure I had much else to do this morning so I thought I’d go see the general store and then maybe play a game of pool.”

“Have you ever played pool before?”

Lexa smiled. “Never.”

“Come on,” Clarke turned toward the door and took a few steps before looking back over her shoulder with a grin. “I’ll show you.”

Never one to refuse an invitation, Lexa followed quickly, trying not to trip over her own feet. 

 

—————

Clarke and Lexa walked through the streets of Polis. This early, and with no rain, they were fairly crowded. Lexa sidestepped a group of small boys running down the street, jumping into puddles left over from the days of rain. Polis had a single main street, about seventy-five buildings in total, some big and tall, some short and narrow, all pressed up against each other like they were huddled up for warmth. Away from the main street, there were a few dozen small farms scattered around, most little more than a couple acres and some goats or pigs. Chickens scratched around most front yards. There weren’t many businesses in town, a couple more small bars but none could compete with End Times. A lot of the people here worked out in the Wastes during the winter, poaching the migration paths of multiple animals, sending meat and skins back to some of the Coastals where a few people had enough money to actually buy luxury items. The rest of it went onto boats, across the oceans. And a few months of dangerous work gave the men and women of Polis enough money to drink and die on for the rest of the year.

There were a few small restaurants, normally named after some woman, Dot’s or Polly’s or Mary’s, and they all smelled strongly of coffee and sausage gravy this early in the morning. Clarke pulled Lexa through town without touching her. She could feel the other woman close at her elbow. If Clarke let her hand lazily drift backward a few inches, her hand would land gently across the other woman’s thigh. The thought made her swallow hard. 

“So how long have you lived in Polis?” Lexa asked, trying to make conversation. 

“Ten years,” Clarke said. 

Lexa whistled.

“What, does that make me old?”

Lexa chuckled. “No, I think we’re about the same age. And it doesn’t make you old. I just can’t imagine living somewhere that long.”

"Really?"

Lexa nodded. “I’d like to, don’t get me wrong. I have a little farm, actually, about two day’s drive from here. I’d love to stay there forever. But I can’t.”

“What’s keeping you from it?”

“Money.”

“Ah, yeah,” Clarke grinned. “I guess that’s kind of important.”

Lexa laughed and the two women walked in companionable silence for a while. Clarke stopped in front of a low building at the end of the street. There was a porch on the front with a couple tables. At one, two old men were playing cards and drinking soda out of worn glass bottles. Clarke opened the door and Lexa followed her inside. 

“Hey Abby,” Clarke hollered as they walked in. 

“Clarke,” an older blonde woman smiled from behind a counter at the side of the store. “What brings you here today?”

Clarke jerked a thumb towards Lexa. “New to town, thought I’d show her the ropes.”

Abby looked at the other woman and then winked at Clarke. “Sure, sweetie,” she said.

Clarke glared at Abby but it was all in good-natured fun. Abby, Marcus’s wife, and Clarke, had known each other for years. They were as close as mother and daughter which Clarke really appreciated because her own mother had died years before. Clarke often times went to the older woman when she needed advice or comfort and Abby was always there. Abby was also appreciative of the business that Clarke sent her way. 

Clarke leaned against the counter and caught up with Abby while Lexa wondered around the store. 

“Where did you find this one?”

“Abby,” Clarke swatted the woman gently on the arm. “She’s a customer. Came in last night?”

“And what exactly did she buy?” Abby looked at Clarke with a knowing eye. 

“Not me, and not any of the other girls. She claims she doesn’t pay for it.”

“Really?”

Clarke nodded. “Wouldn’t say why, though.” 

“Maybe she likes you and she just wants you to think you’re special.”

Clarke laughed. “Yeah, right. I’m sure I’m just one of a thousand girls she sees all over the place. That’s probably why she doesn’t pay for it. Look at her, she’s beautiful. She can get it anywhere she wants.”

“And what about you?”

“What do you mean?” Clarke asked, picking at her thumb nail. 

“Raven came to visit me. She’s worried about you.”

“Raven needs to mind her own business.”

Abby laughed. “We both know that’s never going to happen. But you and I both know that it’s been a while since you’ve been close to anyone, and you’ve had opportunities.”

“It’s not because of a lack of opportunity, Abby. We both know that. I just,” Clarke sighed. “I just don’t want to get close to anyone.”

“Why not?”

“Because people die, people leave, people disappear, people cheat. I don’t want to put myself out there just to lose someone again.”

“Wells was a long time ago, Clarke.”

“Not long enough for me to forget about him,” Clarke said, trying to keep an eye on Lexa who was browsing a stack of worn out paperbacks so she wouldn’t come close and overhear the conversation. 

“And you’re never going to forget about him,” Abby said, softly. “I was married once, before Marcus. And he died.”

Clarke nodded, trying not to cry. She knew about Abby’s ex, the man she’d married when she was young and dumb and in love, who ran off to fight a war and his dog tags came home but he didn’t. Wells had been similar. He was so idealistic, so passionate. When he’d been given the opportunity to go to one of the Coastals and practice medicine, Clarke had encouraged him to take the job, and when he got the chance to go down to The Swamps and vaccinate kids against an outbreak of the Boatman Plague that had cropped up in old Louisiana, Clarke had written to him to tell him to be safe. And when his last two letters had come, one to tell her he was sick and one to tell her goodbye, Clarke had wept for days. It had been five years now, and she’d been alone. 

“Everyone leaves somehow, Abby.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy them while they’re here.”

Clarke sighed and wondered off to grab a few pieces of hard candy out of one of the barrels at the end of an aisle. She caught up with Lexa who had selected a paperback with the picture of an old-fashioned cowboy on the cover. 

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Lexa nodded. “Looked like you were having an important conversation and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Clarke shook her head. “Nothing important.”

Lexa went up to the counter and bought her book and insisted on paying for Clarke’s candy despite the other woman’s protest. Abby handed Clarke a brown paper sack and told her she might as well get enough for the both of them so Clarke wondered off to do just that. 

When she came back, Lexa wouldn’t meet her gaze and Abby had a worrying smile on her face. Clarke didn’t know what had been said while she was gone but their looks made her nervous.

“Come on,” Clarke said, pulling Lexa out of the store. “I have to teach you how to play pool.”

 

—————

Lexa watched Clarke walk away from the store counter. She held the small bag in one hand and was glaring at Abby over her shoulder. When Lexa turned around, the other woman was watching her intently. 

“I’ve always been a pretty blunt person so I’ll make this quick. Clarke likes you. She’s interested in you. She’s also too scared to say anything and she’s made a bit of a habit out of being alone. I won’t go into the details because it’s not my business. But I can tell you like her too.”

“Maybe,” Lexa said, a little surprised.

Of course she liked Clarke. The strong, beautiful woman with the incredible blue eyes she could get lost in, the powerful walk, the fantastic curves she just wanted to put her hands on. But she was also leaving soon. And she said as much. 

“I’m not sticking around here, Abby. Why would I start something when I’m just going to be gone in a couple days.”

“Oh, Jesus, fuck,” Abby groaned, rolling her eyes. “The two of you are both idiots. I’m not saying run down the aisle and get married, but you both look like you could use some company and you’re clearly interested in each other. I’m just trying to put some ideas in your head, that’s all.”

Clarke came back with the candy a few minutes later and Lexa found that she couldn’t look at the other woman. She kept her eyes averted, carefully counting the coins in her palm as she handed them over to Abby and waited patiently for her change. Finally, Clarke pulled her out of the store, her hand strong and warm around Lexa’s bicep.

Lexa let Clarke walk her down the street to another low building. This one had a few more windows and was a lot bigger. The ceiling was a little low but it wasn’t important. There was a bar on the back end of the wall with a few stools and in the middle of the room, four pool tables with green felt. On one wall was a rack of pool cues. Clarke waved to the man at the bar and Lexa noticed that it was Murphy, the barman from the End Times the night before. 

“Hey,” she said. “You work here too?”

“Mornings here, nights at the saloon. My weakness has always been money,” he grinned. 

Lexa smiled and slid into a seat. 

“What can I get you? I don’t have any corn shine.”

“Thank god,” Lexa groaned. “Just a beer.”

“So what are you two up to today?”

“Apparently, Clarke is going to show me how to play pool.”

“Shouldn’t you know how to play it before you try to teach anyone else?” Murphy joked. 

Clarke leaned across the bar and hit him hard in the shoulder. “Keep talking like that and I’ll have you cleaning bathrooms tonight.”

“What, and leave Bellamy in charge of the bar. One too many pretty ladies blinks at that kid and he’ll trip and fall into a barrel of beer.”

Clarke snorted a laugh. “He has potential.”

“Fair enough,” Murphy nodded. “So one game and two beers to start with?”

“Sounds good,” Clarke nodded. 

She walked over to the rack on the far wall and pulled out two pool cues. Lexa held them while Clarke set up the balls.

“Do you want to break?” she asked. 

“I don’t even know what that means,” Lexa smiled. 

Clarke grabbed one of the pool cues from Lexa and walked over to the table. Lexa watched, trying hard not to stare as the woman curved her body over the table, adjusting her hips, moving them back and forth. Lexa felt herself growing hot and quickly pulled off her duster, tossing it over a nearby chair. The other woman looked intently down her cue like she was lining up her sights for a gunshot. Lexa watched, nearly holding her breath. 

When Clarke moved, hitting the white ball and sending it careening across the green felt and into the other balls, Lexa almost jumped. She’d been so intent, so focused, on what Clarke’s body was doing, that she’d forgotten to watch the pool table. Lexa took a long drink of her beer, trying to focus. Clarke had knocked one of the colored balls into the corner pocket so she got to go again. Finally, though, it was Lexa’s turn.

She approached the pool table, awkwardly trying to position the pool cue and use it to hit the white ball like she had seen Clarke do. She heard the other woman laugh softly behind her.

“Here, let me help,” she said, her voice low in Lexa’s ear. 

Lexa nearly jumped out of her skin as Clarke curved her body around Lexa’s, hands on her hips, chest pressed against her spine. She adjusted Lexa’s stance and then wrapped her arms around Lexa’s body to help her hold the pool cue. Lexa could barely breathe. It was everything she could do to keep the pool cue steady as Clarke whispered instructions in her ear, so close to her that Lexa could feel her warm breath against her ear. Lexa drew back the pool cue and struck the white ball. It hit a ball with a red stripe on it and rolled off the table and into a side pocket.

“See,” Clarke smiled. “You’re a natural. Now just aim for the balls with the stripes on them and I aim for the solid ones. If you get one of my balls in the pocket, it’s my turn. And don’t aim for that solid black one. If you put it in, you lose the game.”

“Alright,” Lexa nodded and tried to focus as she positioned herself over the table. 

The two women took turns. Clarke was clearly the better player but she was willing to offer Lexa advice and help, and she made sure that Lexa didn’t lose too badly. To be honest, though, Lexa was paying very little attention to the game. Instead, she paid attention to the pretty blonde who curved herself over the pool cue with such grace, who kept looking up at Lexa with a little smile, a slight twist of her lips. Who would occasionally use her warm, gentle hands to adjust Lexa’s grip, to move her hips. 

Lexa’s body was on fire. Her skin ached for the feel of Clarke’s fingers on more than just her hands and with a lot less clothes between them. Clarke hit the last ball into the pocket, the black one, and put her pool cue down on the table in victory. 

“I won,” she smiled. 

“Is that really something to brag about, though,” Lexa grinned. “I’m a pretty bad pool player.”

“Yeah, right now. We’ll work on it.”

“Will we now?”

Clarke smiled. “You have something better to do?”

Lexa stood up and closed the distance between them. She was an inch or two taller than Clarke and took full advantage of the difference right now as she hovered, so close to the woman that she could feel the heat of her against her but not so that they were touching. Clarke was no longer smiling. 

“Actually,” Lexa said, leaning in so close that her words left her mouth and wrapped around Clarke’s lips with the heat of her breath. “There is something I’d rather be doing.”

Lexa grabbed her duster with one hand and Clarke with the other and pulled her out into the street and back toward the End Times Saloon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the comments and feedback. I appreciate each and every one of them. This story is an idea I've been batting around in my head for a while with Clarke as the owner of a brothel and Lexa a patron who passes through. And this is what it's evolved into. It's also the first story I've written without a solid outline so I have no idea where it's going to go but I hope you like the journey. It's a story about hope, about love, about companionship, and about fighting for happiness and I figure it's going to be one hell of a ride. Also, feel free to check out some of my other work. I hope you'll like it just as much!


	4. Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa and Clarke share a special moment together, throwing caution to the wind.

Chapter 4: Undone 

Clarke let Lexa pull her through the street. They were almost running. Clarke had to take extra long steps to keep up with the other woman. She barely had time to think, had no time to catch her breath. She wasn’t sure what was happening but whatever it was, she was letting it happen. She didn’t want to pull away even though every bit of her was telling her that she should. Just outside the saloon, Lexa ducked into a small alley and pulled Clarke in behind her.

“Tell me to stop,” the other woman breathed, resting her forehead against Clarke’s, their breath mingling in the small space between them. “Tell me that you don’t want this and tell me to walk away and I’ll do it and I’ll never ask you again and I’ll leave in two days and you’ll never see me again.”

“And even if I say yes,” Clarke said, looking up into forest green eyes that held her, trapped. “Even if I say that I want this. You’re still going to leave. And then what?”

“Then I come back to you.”

“You can’t make that promise.”

Lexa nodded. “I can. For you, I will.”

“Why for me?”

“I don’t know,” Lexa said, a little laugh bursting from her throat. “I have no idea. This is crazy. I know this is crazy. But I’ve not been able to keep you out of my mind from the moment I saw you. If you want me to, Clarke, I’ll walk away but I’ll never forget you and I know you won’t forget me either. It’s your choice.”

“Why does it have to be my choice?”

“Because I’ve already made mine. That’s why I’m standing here with you.”

Clarke was so close to Lexa that she could feel her chest rise and fall with every breath. She could smell leather and gunpowder and gasoline. She could see every line in Lexa’s skin, a thin scar by her right eye, one on her lower lip. Clarke knew what she wanted. Her body craved it. It was arching towards Lexa as if drawn to her. Finally, she couldn’t resist it and she closed the distance between them, nearly falling into Lexa’s arms. And the other woman was there, holding her up, holding her close, pressing her lips against Clarke’s as they searched for her in desperation. 

Clarke could taste the other woman as their mouths met. Lexa’s tongue pushed against Clarke’s lips, their bodies pressed against each other. Clarke grabbed the collar of Lexa’s shirt in both hands and pulled her tightly against her. When they finally parted, Clarke struggled to catch her breath. Lexa’s eyes were shining in the dim light of the alleyway and Clarke had nearly forgotten where the two of them were standing. It was like the walls and the mud and the dirt had disappeared and it was just the two of them. 

“Your room or mine?” Clarke gasped, leaning her forehead against Lexa’s, wanting to feel her skin again.

“I’m willing to bet that yours is bigger than mine.”

“But yours is closer,” Clarke smiled. 

Lexa chuckled and pulled the other woman with her into the saloon. The first floor was still mostly deserted. It wasn’t even noon yet. So they were able to dart upstairs without being noticed. Lexa paused at her door but Clarke walked past and Lexa followed her, up to the third floor and down the hallway. Clarke unlocked her door and walked inside. 

Lexa let out a low whistle and Clarke found herself looking at the room with new eyes. It wasn’t a bad place after ten years of time and money had gone into decorating it. She had a nice, low dresser with a mirror on the far wall. Under the window on one wall was a big, four-poster bed with a nice thick mattress and a quilt that Abby had sewn for her for Christmas a couple years ago. In one corner there was a deep brass tub and a door in one corner led to the toilet and shower. There was a sink and a mirror on the wall near the tub, a few lamps, a low chaise with a blanket tossed over the back of it sat on the floor next to a bookcase that was stuffed full of paperbacks and hardbacks alike. There was also a drawing pad on the floor, a few pencils in a box near it.

Clarke had a few of her drawings and paintings hanging on the wall near her bed. One was of Raven, wearing a flowing red dress, dancing as an unknown piano player plinked out a tune in the background. Another was of her parents, little more than a sketch of the features she remembered. It had been so long ago. Another was of Finn, a boyish grin stretched across his features, a lock of brown hair threatening to fall into his eyes. 

Lexa was standing near them, looking at the images intently. 

“Did you do this?” she asked. 

Clarke nodded, a little embarrassed. 

“They’re wonderful,” she breathed. 

Clarke felt uncomfortable. She wasn’t used to anyone seeing her work. She wasn’t used to letting anyone in. 

“Don’t we have some business to get down to,” she asked, putting her hands on her hips. 

Lexa grinned and pulled of her hat, tossing it and her duster onto the chaise. “I told you, I don’t pay for it.” 

Clarke met her gaze. “You couldn’t afford me even if you did.”

 

—————

Lexa took that as her cue. She took two large steps and closed the distance between them, wrapping one arm around Clarke’s back. The other hand she used to cup Clarke’s cheek, lifting it up so that she could kiss her, gently at first. Clarke didn’t want gentle. She pulled at Lexa with unexpected desperation but the other woman didn’t want to give her what she wanted. Not yet. 

Lexa kissed Clarke until the other woman was almost begging, pleading with her. Lexa heard a gentle whimper escape from her throat and it made her weak in the knees. Lexa pulled away from her and with both hands, helped Clarke pull off her t-shirt. She tossed it onto the floor and by the time she turned her attention back to Clarke, the other woman was pulling her shirt out of her pants and getting to work on the buttons. Lexa grinned and helped her, meeting her in the middle and stripping out of her shirt. 

They both took off their own gun belts, setting those aside more gently, but when they came together again, the feeling of skin against skin was more than either of them could handle. Lexa pulled away just long enough to slide Clarke’s bra down her arms and discard it on the floor, then help herself out of her own since Clarke was standing there, watching her, too stunned to do anything else. 

For a moment, Lexa watched too, catching her breath. Clarke’s skin was smooth, her stomach flat, her hips curved. Lexa knelt down in front of her, gently kissing her stomach, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath her lips. Goosebumps popped up on Clarke’s body as she felt Lexa’s lips against her. The other woman smiled and continued trailing kisses down until she reached the waist of her pants. She undid the buttons slowly, pulling them down off Clarke’s hips and helping the other woman step out of them. 

Finally, Clarke stood naked in front of Lexa. The other woman stayed on her knees, a fitting position because Lexa wanted to worship her in this moment. She wanted to touch every inch of her, to take every part of her into her mouth, to taste her. Instead, she stood, kicked off her boots, and helped Clarke remove her last pieces of clothing. 

Lexa no longer felt self-conscious. The awkward, bumbling idiot before was gone, replaced by confidence. Lexa didn’t necessarily consider herself skilled in a lot of areas, but this she could do well. She pulled Clarke tight against her, their skin pressed against each other. Clarke trailed kisses across Lexa’s jaw line, nipping at her chin with her teeth. Lexa lowered her head and caught Clarke’s lips with her own, pushing her backward toward the bed. 

Lexa stopped, Clarke’s hands pressing against her chest. She waited and watched as the other woman climbed up in the bed, knelt in the middle of it, then beckoned her to join her. Lexa nearly lost the ability to breathe. 

“You are incredible,” she whispered as she joined Clarke on the bed, kneeling with her, their bodies moving together gently on the uneven surface. 

Clarke smiled and kissed Lexa, pulling the other woman’s head tightly into her so that their lips and tongues battled for space. Lexa’s hand started at Clarke’s collarbone, trailed a path down her chest, cupping one breast and rubbing the pad of her thumb across the other woman’s already hard nipple. 

Clarke gasped into Lexa’s mouth, her body arching beneath Lexa’s touch. Lexa pulled Clarke’s body to hers, closer, so that the other woman was straddling Lexa’s thigh on the bed. She could feel Clarke’s wetness on her leg and the thought of it nearly made her crazy. Lexa wrapped her arm around Clarke’s waist, pulling her even tighter against her, their mouths pressing together, their hands exploring each other’s bodies. 

Lexa’s hand traveled down Clarke’s stomach, grazing her nails gently across the soft skin. Instead of stopping, she continued down until her hand came to rest between Clarke’s legs, barely touching her. Clarke pulled away from the kiss and looked the other woman in the eye. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

Clarke shook her head, reached down to where Lexa’s hand had stopped, and guided her the rest of the way. 

Lexa gasped as Clarke helped her slip two fingers inside, dropping her head onto the blonde woman’s shoulder. She felt dizzy, almost. It was a sensation she’d never felt with any of the other woman she’d been with. There had been pleasure, sure. And passion, sometimes anger or frustration. Definitely teasing and laughter. But never this incredibly, overwhelming feeling of connection. It felt like every inch of Lexa’s body matched every inch of Clarke’s and they were made to fit together. 

Lexa felt Clarke’s fingers dig into the skin of her back, her fingernails making crescent-shaped marks near her spine. Lexa lifted her head, caught the other woman’s mouth with her own, and started moving her fingers. 

Clarke gasped. Lexa seemed to know all the right places. She knew when to speed up and when to slow down. Clarke wrapped one arm around Lexa’s shoulders, the other she dipped between the other woman’s legs, mirroring her motions, keeping their rhythm steady. Lexa was tight and wet around Clarke’s fingers and it was almost enough to push her over the edge right there. Clarke took a deep breath to steady herself. 

Lexa met Clarke’s eyes with her own. She knew how the other woman felt. Part of her wanted to jump, to leap right off the edge and come crashing down in waves of pleasure. The other part of her wanted these moments to last forever. Clarke made that decision for her, however. She curled her fingers, pulling a gasp from Lexa, and dug the nails of her other hand into Lexa’s back. Lexa increased her pace, a little more force, a better angle.

Clarke threw her head back, giving Lexa access to her collarbone where she alternated between soft kisses and harder bites, leaving a trail of red marks across her skin. With a groan, Clarke came, tightening around Lexa’s fingers, her body shaking as she rode out each wave of pleasure. A few seconds later, Lexa joined her, burying her face into Clarke’s neck as she came. They knelt there, in the center of the bed, not wanting to move, enjoying the last bit of pleasure they could gain from each other. Finally, together, they collapsed onto the bed, still twisted in each other’s arms. 

—————

Clarke rolled over, blinking sleep out of her eyes. She could still feel the warmth of Lexa’s body pressed against her thigh. Sun was still shining through the window but it had an old, more golden quality to it, when the sun has passed its zenith and is on the way back down for the evening. Clarke didn’t bother with the clock on the wall, she knew it was probably two or three in the afternoon. She groaned a little, quietly, so she wouldn’t wake the other woman. Passing hours meant a countdown to work, and work meant getting out of bed. 

Lexa was curled on her side, giving Clarke an excellent view of a well-toned back. Her pale skin broken by the waving, curving lines of a large tattoo that ran up and down most of her spine and across her shoulders as well. Clarke reached out, unable to stop herself, tracing the lines with her fingertips. She felt Lexa shift beneath her. 

“Sorry,” Clarke said, drawing her fingers back. 

“Don’t be,” Lexa’s voice was deep and sleepy but she nestled back towards Clarke and the other woman replaced her fingers. 

“What does it mean?”

“It’s a courier’s mark.”

“A what?”

Lexa smiled and turned over in the bed so she could look at Clarke. “It’s the mark of the courier’s guild. It was given to me after I made my first delivery, once I officially joined the guild. It’s supposed to be a reference to the Pony Express, a delivery service that existed 200 years ago here, back when people rode on horseback everywhere.”

“I didn’t know the couriers were so organized.”

Lexa nodded. “It’s helped us get paid well. We’re actually highly trained and skilled, weapons, navigation, mechanical abilities, hand-to-hand combat. It helps make sure the package gets to where it needs to go. There are always people trying to come in and undercut couriers, do the job for cheaper. But no one does it better.”

Clarke smiled. 

“How long have you been a courier?”

“Almost ten years.”

“And you got onto me for living here for ten years,” Clarke laughed. 

Lexa smiled back at her. “I haven’t stayed in one place.”

Clarke looked away. The conversation was getting dangerously close to uncomfortable territory, where they would have to talk about the fact that, in two mornings, when Lexa woke up, she would leave. Clarke sighed and rolled over on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Lexa followed, propping herself up on one elbow so she could look at Clarke. 

“What?” she asked.

Clarke shook her head. “It’s almost time for me to get to work.”

“That’s a pity,” Lexa shook her head. “I’ll go so you can get ready.”

Clarke reached out with one hand as the other woman made a movement toward the edge of the bed. Lexa stopped, turning back to Clarke, a curious look on her face. 

“Stay,” she said. “I want to pretend like the world doesn’t exist for a while longer.”

Lexa smiled, wrapped her arms around Clarke and pulled her close. In the golden light of Clarke’s bedroom, she found herself getting lost, once again, in Lexa’s eyes, in the touch of her lips, in the feel of her body.


End file.
